


Snapdragons and Magnolia

by virginiasparrow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:35:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28693314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virginiasparrow/pseuds/virginiasparrow
Summary: Hermione Granger is a Detective based in Edinburgh, working in a branch that liases with the Ministry of Magic. She's approached by Narcissa Black, who comes to Hermione as a last resort in the search for her missing son, Draco.Started this and lost around 80,000 words. This was all I could recover of it! Thought I would just post it all for a bit of fun :)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Andromeda Black Tonks, Hermione Granger/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	Snapdragons and Magnolia

Snapdragons and Magnolia  
By Virginia Sparrow

Chapter One

Feet pounded on the pavement, slapping against the concrete like the pounding of hooves. Dust and smog entered my gasping lungs. The feeling of incontestable fear violated my body, smashing through me like the blood pummeling around my core. 

For a moment, time stood still. A figure dressed in black robes shimmering with undulating lines of silver brandished a wand. My mouth tore open, a shrill scream fighting its way into the air as a bolt of green light filled my vision, blinding me just as I tripped and fell to the ground, knees grazing the cobbled stone. 

The pop of apparition broke the silence, and the robed figure was gone. In their place, my best friend. Dead. An empty shell of a body crumpled on the floor. I had always thought the battle of Hogwarts would be the last time I lost someone to an Unforgivable, but I was wrong. 

\--

“Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother here departed, we, therefore, commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; who shall change our vile body...”

Minutes, seconds or perhaps even hours passed as I sat resolutely still. The crematorium was bright and airy, modern with touches of mahogany and carved stonework. In my hands, I held the Order of Service limply; Paper to flesh, ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. The words echoed around my head like the incessant dripping of a tap; uninvited. 

When I returned to the office, it was empty. I supposed that everyone else was taking the day off - perhaps even more than a day. My brain couldn’t quite comprehend that; throwing myself into work was what I had always done, even back at Hogwarts. No matter what happened with Harry, Ron and I there was always school work to fall back on. There was always something to do, an exam to study for, knowledge to gain. Things to distract me, for distraction, was far less rotten than acceptance.

A loud, intrusive squeak echoed out in the empty room as I lowered myself into the old chair, cursing the caretaker for not having fixed it. Converted in 1954 from an old Opera house, the police station I sat in stood proudly amongst dilapidated, grey council homes and odd, jutting, historic buildings made of rotting stone and weathered bricks. The station, known locally as Garforth Place after its original namesake, was no better; in the dim gloomy weather that characterised Edinburgh, the angular, intense black turrets protruded at weird angles looking as if it had been scrambled up and then put together again by a young child with a vivid imagination. A large, gilt clock stuck out above the curved tunnel entrance but in my ten or so years working here I had never seen it tell the correct time.

Above my head, a yellow light flickered and dimmed momentarily before turning off completely, leaving my desk shrouded in darkness. Gritting my teeth, I resisted the urge to use Lumos; I was used to working with muggles, but the temptation to use magic was always there. Biting my lip, I exhaled gently and flicked on a lamp, burying my head in my work. The silence proved a blessing, deafening though it was.

Hours passed without me moving a single muscle. When I was finally interrupted, it was a blessing in disguise; my finger had started to bleed due to the strain of my furious scribbling.

“Ahem,” A man cleared his throat and I stood up in shock, “DS Granger.”

“Boss,” I nodded at the head of the Major Crime Unit nervously, feeling awkward now as I stood before him wringing my hands, “How can I help?”

“I, um -” the normally composed man looked extremely uncomfortable and the silence stretched out before us in the most awkward way, his grey hair reflecting in the light from my lamp, “I’ve had certain orders from above, directly from the Chief Constable you see, and I - there was nothing I could do.”

“Understood, Sir,” Fighting back tears, I nodded my head stiffly. I had seen this coming from miles away, but it didn’t lessen the hurt.

“You already know?” His pale face wrinkled as he frowned, scratching his head.

“I thought this would happen,” slipping off my lanyard, I held out a hand, “It was a pleasure working for you for so long, DCI Wilson. I understand why you have to do this.”

“I - Hermione,” Wilson blinked, so dumbfounded he used my first name, “I’m not firing you!”

“You’re not?” I blinked.

“No. I’m assigning you a new case.”

“Oh,” My head swam, unable to fathom what was going on, “So I still have my job?”

“Of course you do!” Wilson exclaimed, looking rather embarrassed, “Granger, you - I know that what happened to DS Lamar was not your fault. Anyone could have been there with him, it could have happened to any of us.”

“I know,” I muttered weakly, but his words did nothing to assuage my guilt. Even DCI Wilson didn’t truly believe what he was saying. The doubt wasn’t spoken, but it was in his eyes. It was in everyone’s eyes every time they looked at me.

“Anyway,” Wilson swallowed uncomfortably, handing me a case file, “I’ve been ordered to give you this.”

“What is it?” 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, lines on his forehead creasing as he frowned, “I’m not actually authorised. You’re to report to the head of the division about this one.”

“DSI Bellchant!?” I exclaimed in horror, images of the quite frankly terrifying woman springing to mind. Wilson simply nodded, “Is this for the whole department or just me?”

“I don’t know,” Wilson repeated, becoming more skittish by the minute; my worry increased exponentially, “You have a meeting scheduled with her tomorrow, I’ll forward you the details.”

“Right,” Scratching my head, I sat down in my chair, waiting for him to leave.

“Granger?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Go home, yeah? You can deal with this in the morning. I think you need the rest. And dress smart tomorrow. Really smart.”

“Yes, Sir,” I repeated monotonously, watching his form retreat as I clutched the file in my hands. Normally, I would spend all night reading something like this, but this was not normal circumstances. I had to watch one of my closest colleagues get buried today. Perhaps it was time to go home. 

When I awoke the next morning it was to a screeching wail not unlike a banshee, piercing and invasive and utterly terrifying. It echoed through my home, reverberating around the walls in a frenzy as I leapt out of bed. With fear in my heart and panic in my throat, I sprinted into the living room, bursting in with my wand drawn to reveal a very sorry sight. 

In the middle of the living room sat Crookshanks, hissing and prowling, his head resolutely jutting up towards the ceiling. In the rafters flapped a distressed crow. Frowning, I sheathed my wand and sighed as the bird continued to make an awful racket. With trembling hands, I pushed open the window and muttered “Descendo,” watching the bird slowly lower itself so that I could quickly grab it. Just as I released the blasted bird, relieved it was unharmed, it scratched me painfully on the hand and I glared at it as it flew away into the morning sun, “Sorry, Crooks. It’s Kneazle chow for breakfast, not bird.”

“Mornin’,” Ron grumbled, surprising me. Glancing up in shock, I saw he had finally arisen, wincing as his eyes adjusted to the light, “How come you got out of bed before your alarm went off?” he scratched his messy hair, puzzled.

“You didn’t hear-” Raising my eyebrows in fascination, I laughed, “Oh, never mind.”

“You’re so odd,” Ron gave me a lopsided smile and I giggled as he swept me into his arms, placing a sloppy kiss on my forehead, “But I love you, ‘Mione.”

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” I grumbled, but I was smiling regardless, “It’s Hermione, that’s my name, I don’t approve of silly nicknames.”

“Ooh, she’s touchy this morning,” Ron teased, “Is it that time of the month?” My smile faded to a squint; something about that rubbed me up the wrong way and I wriggled out of his grasp with a defeated sigh as I headed over to the open plan kitchen to fix him some breakfast, “Sorry, love. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s fine,” I responded, biting my lip, “I’m just nervous. I’ve got some big meeting with the DSI today and it seems really important, something to do with a case. I don’t know if it’s too crude to be talking about this already, but I really think if I crack this case, whatever it is, I could get that promotion to Detective Inspector. It could really help us out, you see, maybe we could get that broom you always wanted, and - Ron?” Turning from the stove, I saw that he hadn’t been paying me any attention; his eyes were transfixed on the Television. A small part of me regretted buying it now.

Our first night together sharing my apartment felt like yesterday, but it had been around eight or so years ago now; just after I became a Detective. Part of me feels that I am getting a little too old to still be living in an apartment, and I suspect that Ron is getting rather restless. However, the idea of owning a home with him terrifies me, and that, in turn, worries me - why am I so scared of commitment? And why does the idea of having children with my kind, loving boyfriend fill me with such dread? One day, I had caught him staring wistfully at engagement rings in a jewellery shop on a trip to London. It tugged at my heartstrings because I loved him so dearly, but I just wasn’t ready. And if I wasn’t ready now, when would I be?

Keeping the Television felt like a small sacrifice to make, but it was rather off-putting; the constant drone of muggle football so early in the morning as I tried to concentrate on making breakfast. I shouldn’t really have taught him how to record things, because it meant that he could watch football at any time of the day he wanted, even in the early hours of the morning. I had never cared for football or any sport for that matter.

Ronald Weasley accepted his fry up with utter delight and gave a slightly crude pat on the bottom as a thank you for he was already too busy shovelling bacon into his mouth to use it properly. My mother always said the way to a man's heart was his stomach, and that was most certainly the truth with Ronald. Smiling softly, I turned away from my boyfriend, deciding a simple yoghurt would suffice for myself. Renting an apartment in central Edinburgh was not cheap, and whilst my salary was agreeable, the less food I ate, the better. 

Crookshanks was fed, Ronald was fed, I was fed and it only took a few spells to tame my curls and dress appropriately and I was ready to go. Following DCI Wilson’s advice, I retrieved the black Prada blazer that had been gifted down from my grandmother to my mother and now to me, which more often than not sat at the back of my wardrobe for I was terrified of staining it. ‘Dress for the job you want, not the job you have,’ I thought as I slipped on the lovely black flats Harry had bought as a gift when I first became a Detective. Again, these were hardly worn; they weren’t so practical for the work I did. 

My bicycle stood resolutely against the wall and I thanked Merlin that I didn’t have to carry it down the stairs like I did most mornings. Living in a muggle block of flats, I couldn’t levitate it, and working with muggles, I couldn’t apparate, but the distance from here to work wasn’t quite worth using the car. Plus, the fresh air was always nice. 

Today, however, I decided to surreptitiously apparate into a nearby alleyway: I wouldn’t risk cycling with an outfit that cost more than my weekly wages.

Passing the Tolbooth Tavern, the pub I had spent many long nights in, I climbed up the stone steps running along the length of the building and swiped my lanyard to enter, passing the front desk with a curt nod at one of the on-duty constables. I was still respected here; even after what happened with DS Lamar. I had never truly been liked, but I was respected.

Entering the lift, I allowed myself a moment to breathe. The DSI and I knew each other quite well; the purpose of my department here was to liaise with the Ministry of Magic on cases where Wizards had been brought to the attention of the Muggle police, and subsequently, ensure the Statute of Secrecy was still in place whilst solving the case. It wasn’t an easy job, as it often involved hiding clues from my coworkers lest they reveal the existence of magic. Both DCI Wilson, the department head, and DSI Bellchant, both his boss and mine, were half-bloods and as such knew my value within the force. My muggle colleagues, however, did not quite see it that way.

Often, DCI Wilson would send me directly to the DSI to report my findings. We had built up somewhat of a friendly rapport in the years I had been here; sometimes it felt like she was the only person that took me seriously. Regardless of this, DSI Bellchant was a ferocious woman - she didn’t get to the position she had without stepping on a few toes. She was not to be messed with, and I steeled myself as I knocked on the door. 

“Come in,” came a harsh Glaswegian lilt, and I adjusted my blazer nervously as I entered the office. It was marginally nicer than the rest of the building; modern with white walls, a large mahogany desk and bookshelves with a wide array of books I often felt myself glancing at longingly, “DI Granger, good to see you,” DSI Bellchant gave a curt nod, her tone indicating otherwise. She was a tall and most proud woman; her hair was always kept in the same neat bob, her skin wrinkled and pale, her nose rather hooked and her eyes grey and piercing. Her all-black suit set a sombre tone. 

“Ma’am,” I swallowed nervously, greeting her as she gestured for me to take a seat, “How can I help?”

“I’m surprised you’re here.” The woman admitted into the awkward silence.

“You are?” I blinked.

DSI Bellchant paused, wrinkles at the corner of her eyes creasing, “Have you read the file?”

“No Ma’am. After the funeral…”

She held up her hand, “Of course, I understand. I apologise profusely for this, Granger, I - I wish it could be different.”

I frowned. DSI Bellchant had never apologised to me about anything before, never stuttered either. Rather like Minerva McGonagall, she was an eloquent, well-educated woman with a sharp tongue; I hadn’t seen her look so unsure in the decade I had known her, “What’s going on, Ma’am?”

The woman let out a brief sigh, and leant back, “Open your file, please.”

A throbbing headache began to form at the back of my head. The file stared back at me, nestled in my lap. On top, it was stamped ‘CLASSIFIED’. With great trepidation, I peeled it open. The very first thing I saw was a picture of Draco Malfoy.

“No.”

“DS Granger, I-”

“No,” my mouth was dry, my heart thudding. I had never said no to her before, but this was a line I simply would not cross. The room was spinning. Or, perhaps I was the one spinning - I was unsure.

“Granger, I’m - I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”

“What?” I exclaimed, beginning to hyperventilate. This couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be happening. White lines faded in and out at the edges of my vision as I clutched the edge of the chair like a lifeline.

It was then that the door opened. 

DSI Bellchant looked up, a glimmer of fear in her eyes. I had never seen that expression on her face before - ever.

“Good morning,” came a voice, so chilling and careful in its cadence an involuntary shiver ran up my spine. I didn’t immediately recognise it, but it registered so profoundly within me that I found myself frozen to the spot, incapable of moving. 

The floor was carpet, but despite that, the vague hum of heels clicking against it still resounded as someone took a seat beside me.

For a second, my heart stopped.

Eyes so pale they looked like rime ice grabbed my throat, viciously squeezing so that I could not breathe; could not move; could not speak as I sat paralysed with fear. I was so utterly terrified my hands didn’t even shake, didn’t even move, just lay limp at my sides as I watched Narcissa Malfoy turn towards my boss. She looked so out of place here in a way that I couldn’t describe; my job had always felt so separate from my past that seeing the Malfoy matriarch here was like seeing Voldemort himself.

“A better reaction than I thought,” DSI Bellchant surmised, almost looking proud of me as she turned her head to glare at the woman that had just entered.

“I-I can’t do this,” I whispered, leaping up, hardly giving either of them time to register my words before I fled, running out of the office and down the hall. By the time DC Marigold found me, I was a shaking, heaving mess.

“Granger, what the hell is going on!?” the woman exclaimed, jumping up from her desk to wrap her arms around me as I began to sob.

“S-s-she’s here!” My voice called out in the silent office as my coworkers watched on in mild fascination, “She’s here, right here! In Bellchant’s office!”

“Who's here, Hermione?” Marigold, whose first name was Hanvitha, asked, her voice soft and soothing. Her hair, much like mine, was jet black and unruly, a mass of curls atop her head secured loosely with a pencil. Her light grey button-up was covered in my tears and she took a step back to appraise me with swirling, concerned, dark eyes.

“Narcissa,” I hissed, my voice cracking, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth with the lack of moisture, “Narcissa Malfoy.”

“The Death Eater!?” Exclaimed Marigold, stepping back instantaneously with her wand drawn, eyes darting around the office.

“Put that away!” I exclaimed, batting her wrist as a few muggles looked up, “She’s not actually a death- Well,” I took a moment to catch my shaky breath as Marigold sheepishly stowed her wand, “She’s not here to attack us, anyway. Not directly, I don’t think. But she’s here.”

“Damn,” Marigold gulped nervously, but there was a hint of inquisitiveness in her eyes that she couldn’t quite disguise.

Hanvitha Marigold was 21, and as such was only ten when the Battle of Hogwarts occurred. Her parents, both magical, whisked her away to Sri Lanka to stay in her childhood home to wait out the war. For Marigold, it was part of history. For me, it was a first-hand memory.

Marigold wasn’t there when Narcissa Malfoy stood across from me in her own home surrounded by murderers, cannibals, rapists and thieves. Marigold wasn’t there when Narcissa Malfoy’s son ripped my self-esteem to shreds for years, and years, and years. And Marigold was not there when Narcissa Malfoy stood and watched her sister torture me to the brink of insanity.

“Um, Hermione?” Marigold’s soft, Scottish accent brought me back down to reality. I had collapsed into my office chair weakly, and she rubbed gentle circles on my back as I shivered.

“What am I gonna do, ‘Vitha?” I questioned, rubbing my eyes viciously. Stars swam in and out of my vision, and for a moment I was blinded. It was bliss.

“Ignore her, she’ll leave eventually, right?” Marigold shrugged.

“No, she won’t.”

“I’m sure she’s got a lovely mansion to go home t-”

“No, Marigold, she won’t. I’ve been assigned to work on a case with her.”

“What!? Marigold exclaimed, jumping into her own office chair so that we sat diagonally, her eyes almost bulging out of her head, “But - she’s a you-know-what!” Marigold suddenly cast Muffliato, “She’s a Witch! Surely this should be handled by the DMLE?”

“My thoughts exactly,” I grimaced, “I’m the very last person she would want near her. A mudblood is bad enough, but a member of the golden trio?” I scoffed, “Either she’s here because I have something she can’t get from anyone else, or she doesn’t have a choice. And someone like Narcissa Malfoy always has a choice. She…” I paused, grappling for the right words, my voice heavy and laced with bitterness, “They’re careless people, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. They smash up things and creatures and then retreat back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it is that keeps them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made.”

“Another one of your literary references?” Marigold questioned.

“It’s -”

“F. Scott Fitzgerald,” Came a smooth voice, interrupting me with a voice like velvet, “The Great Gatsby, I do believe,” Narcissa gave a smug smile, knowing full well that she was correct.

“I would have thought Muggle literature was below you,” I professed, resisting the urge to narrow my eyes. Marigold, for all her experience, looked utterly terrified but was trying to hide it by jutting her chin out stubbornly. DSI Bellchant stood behind Narcissa, having approached with caution.

“Of course it is,” Narcissa goaded. Her face was still and impassive, however, her eyes betrayed the fun she was having poking at my last reserves of patience, “F. Scott Fitzgerald was not a Muggle, Ms Granger, perish the thought! He was a Wizard through and through, although I suppose you didn’t assimilate that,” Narcissa slipped on a leather glove, evidently ready to depart, “Well I never; wonders never cease! The ‘Brightest Witch of her Age’ doesn’t know something - I never thought I would live to see the day.”

“You’re incorrigible,” I hissed, my eyes alight with anger. Sparks began to shoot out of my wand, and Narcissa bathed in the glory of provoking me.

“Now, now,” DSI Bellchant stepped in hastily and Narcissa smoothed out her features into a disinterested, vague glare as she watched my Boss with guarded eyes. Dressed in the finest green robes, easily passed as a long overcoat to muggles, Narcissa was the epitome of elegance and I shivered under the intensity of her gaze as her eyes glossed over mine whilst scanning the room. A habit of the war, I presumed. 

“I have work to do,” I said simply, glancing towards the pile of papers on my desk.

“Detective Sergeant Hermione Granger!” DSI Bellchant exclaimed, and I looked up in shock. Even Marigold was surprised; Narcissa didn’t even flinch, “You are to come back to my office at once, and we are to discuss this in private. Am I clear?”

“Yes Ma’am,” I swallowed, my heart threatening to beat itself out of my chest. Tail between my legs, I followed the two women back through the building. A scolding from a superior was, in my opinion, a fate worse than death. It left a sick feeling in my stomach and only furthered the hatred I felt toward Malfoy. As they walked ahead, I glared at the way Narcissa swung her hips evocatively. It could not be denied that she was an incredibly attractive woman, with her silvery blonde hair, grey eyes and razor-sharp cheekbones. Multiple times I saw officers trip, stumble and slip they were in such shock at her beauty. 

To me, however, Narcissa was something far different. I saw her as Pandora, the first woman. A deception. A beauty of the rarest kind but filled within by hate, misery and chaos. When Pandora first appeared before people, ‘Wonder seized them’. But she was ‘sheer guile, not to be withstood by men.’ Not to be withstood by anyone. 

We returned to her office. It felt smaller now, stuffier. Far more suffocating.

“Right,” DSI Bellchant glanced at her watch reluctantly, “I have a meeting. I expect you both to be in one piece when I return.”

Narcissa bristled at the condescending tone but said nothing.

“What!?” I exclaimed, “You’re leaving me locked in a room with her!?”

“Well, the door won’t be locked,” DSI Bellchant swallowed uncomfortably.

“I should be the one feeling threatened, Ms Granger,” Narcissa drawled, her hands folded neatly in front of her. We were all still standing up, and the hairs on the back of my neck stuck up straight like a ramrod, “What was it they called you, now? The ‘Irascible Imbecile’?”

My cheeks glowed red as I thought back to that article, written by Rita Skeeter not four years after her release from the jar. She was too afraid to report false truths, but wouldn’t shy away from mindless gossip about my whereabouts; my job here had been kept very low key, much to the chagrin of the general public. Skeeter only fuelled the interest, particularly enjoying finding new nicknames to brand me with.

“Reading up on me, Madam Malfoy?” I tried to growl, but for some reason, it came out… almost flirtatiously. I grimaced and Narcissa’s cheeks tinged red but her facial features stayed still like stone.

“Only when skimming over the drunken exploits of your little alcoholic blood-traitor boyfriend,” Narcissa hissed in response. Oddly enough, the insult didn’t quite cut as it should have.

“I shall be an hour or so, then,” DSI Bellchant cleared her throat awkwardly and slipped out of the room.

“He is not an alcoholic! Merlin, I must say, your reputation really does precede you,” I snarled, dropping the formalities as I stalked around Bellchant’s desk, taking her seat in a power move that even Snape would be proud of, “Tongue sharp as the knife your sister cut me with.”

Narcissa flinched. I had struck a nerve, “I could say the same to you, Ms Granger,” Narcissa took a seat opposite me, eyebrow raised, her back rigidly straight to an almost painful extent, “I don't recall ever hearing how biting and belittling you had become. When I last saw you, you were far more… demure. Aside from when you were assaulting your classmates, of course.”

“If Draco were in the room right now I’d surely do it again,” I shot back immediately. Narcissa frowned at that rather uneasily as the atmosphere in the cramped office seemed to shift. Before the air was crackling with electricity as we shot insult after insult. Now, it just felt… limp.

“Enough of this,” Narcissa waved a dainty hand dismissively, “I am a busy woman and I have places to be. I’m sure you know why I am here.”

“No, of course I don’t, Malfoy” I rolled my eyes and Narcissa’s nostrils flared in a subtle display of what I’m sure was very intense anger. The sight of it sent chills down my spine as I realised I didn’t truly know what this woman was capable of. If she wanted to kill me right now, I thought, she probably could.

“It’s Black,” hissed the woman, “Madam Black. Have you been living under a rock for the past ten years, Ms Granger?”

“No I haven’t, Madam Black,” I gritted my teeth, “But unless something particularly urgent happens, I don’t pay attention to Wizarding news, only muggle, then at least I don’t have to read lies about me on every other page.”

“Ignorance is bliss I suppose,” Narcissa sneered, “And it’s also a privilege.”

“Oh that is very rich,” I let out a sharp, mocking laugh, “Very rich coming from you, Ms Black. How many castles do you own? Five, Six?”

“Ms Granger, do settle down,” The blonde scoffed patronisingly, evidently tired of my antics, “I came here for a reason, and it seems I need to fill you in on some important details seeing as you’ve had your head in the sand for god knows how long.”

“Go ahead,” I gave up with the insults and sat back with gritted teeth.

“Two months ago, Draco disappeared,” Narcissa began, and my mouth fell open in shock, “He has not been seen since. You are going to find him.”

“Now - just hang on a minute,” I bolted upright, “First of all, no, I shan’t, and second of all, isn’t this an issue for the DMLE?”

Narcissa’s eye twitched, the only part of her body that moved as I spoke, “The Department of Magical Law Enforcement isn’t interested, Ms Granger, and neither are the Aurors if you must know.”

“The Magical Law Enforcement Patrol, then?” I questioned, my heart beginning to pound again as I thought of the magical equivalent of police officers, “Or the Investigation Department?” Another branch of the DMLE, this was more the equivalent of Detectives.

“Ms Granger,” Narcissa cringed then, and it was the most human expression I had seen her display in all the time I had known her, “To reiterate, the DMLE is not interested. That includes all sub-departments.”

“They won’t help,” I sat back, slack-jawed, as I realised why she was here. I was her last hope, “What about a private investigator, surely that would work?”

Narcissa fiddled with her purse and I watched in fascination as she engaged in small, fidgety habits entirely unlike her, like she was lost in her own world and left behind a few of the mental walls she shielded herself with so often, “It’s easier to do things through official channels.”

“In case someone tries to use it against you,” I concluded, staring back at the woman, my mouth forming an ‘o’ shape as the pieces of the puzzle began to form in my mind, “So… you need my help.”

“No,” Narcissa bristled, “I am requesting it. I do not need it.”

Leaning forward, I placed my chin upon my hands and tilted my head, grinning, “You need my help, don’t you?”

“You’re infuriating,” hissed the woman, glaring at me with a startling intensity. 

I beamed at her, “Incorrigible?”

“You have the file,” Narcissa’s features smoothed over and she sat a little taller, feigning to ignore me as I opened it and she peered over the desk, “What can you tell me?”

“Well, you have to give me everything,” I rolled my eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Where’s all the information?” I exclaimed, exasperated.

“That’s all I have,” Narcissa swallowed and I shook my head in confusion.

“What do you mean that’s all of it? All I have is some pictures of him, some notes on his general family connections, of which I already know may I remind you, and his birth certificate!”

“That’s all I have,” Narcissa repeated, looking slightly forlorn. A glimmer of pity simmered in the bottom of my stomach but I banished it immediately.

“Right, well who initially took the case?”

“Someone from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol Department initially, before it was passed onto the Aurors due to our… history.”

“MLEP, got it,” I murmured as I jotted it down, “Then that’s where I’ll go first.”

“You’re helping me?” Narcissa questioned in shock. 

She was so dumbfounded that her impenetrable mask slipped for a single, solitary second and as I stood up, she appraised my outfit with a flash of approval before schooling her features into a neutral expression.

“Ms Black,” I began, tucking the file under my arm as I walked to the door, “Hypothetically, if I was to say no to you, what would happen?”

Rising from her chair gracefully, she towered above me, already five or six inches taller regardless of her gleaming black heels, “I would find a way to make your life very, very difficult indeed, Ms Granger. And I’m sure I would succeed with considerable ease.”

I gave the woman one last withering stare before letting out a resigned sigh, “Precisely what I thought, Black. Good day.” Without waiting for a reply, I spun on my heels and strode away.

Chapter Two:

The atrium of the Ministry of Magic presented itself as a vast, cavernous beast, much like the belly of a great dragon, with swooping scaled ceilings and flaming fireplaces. Marigold and I walked through with ease, more than acquainted with our surroundings now as we were here almost every other week. The odd DMLE worker milled around, be it an Auror or even a Witch Watcher. Dark Wizard threats were at an all time low, particularly with the completion of the new prison, and therefore they were filtered down into less exciting roles usually left to the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol Department, or MLEP, such as guarding the atrium or patrolling Diagon Alley.

Detective Constable Marigold and I made our way through the queue outside the Wand Weighers, slipping around people with ease so as to reach the front sooner. We wanted this over with as soon as possible. Stretching the length of the ministry and guarded by the DMLE, the wand weighers were impossible to ignore, set up in a way that reminded me of turnstiles at muggle train stations. I allowed it to check my wand, and a slip of parchment appeared in my hand.

‘HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER

Dragon Heartstring Core  
Vine Wood  
10 3/4” 

ENTRANCE TO THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT (DMLE) AND ALL SUCH SUB DEPARTMENTS ONLY.  
9am Meeting with Mr Artemis Smallwood (MLEP)  
10am Meeting with Cassieopia Williamson (Auror Office)  
EXIT BY 11:45PM LATEST

Below was the printed signature of Kingsley Shacklebolt, and I smiled fondly, allowing myself a moment of reflection before stuffing it in my pocket. Glancing over at Marigold, I saw that she had done the same.

“I’ve never really liked the Ministry,” Marigold suddenly admitted as we stepped into a lift. It was almost full, and as the doors slowly closed I struggled to reach out and tap my wand on the button for level 2 - The Department Of Magical Law Enforcement. As I did, my stomach lurched and an intense wave of sadness rushed over me like a crashing wave as I read the label for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It was never good to dwell, but I often wondered how different my life might have been if I hadn’t lost that job. Maybe I would finally have managed to get the name of the department changed. Maybe I wouldn’t.

“Oh?” I questioned, tapping my wand for the second floor.

“Mhmm,” She sighed, shivering despite the warmth of the lift as several lilac coloured memos fluttered above our heads, “I first came here when I was five or six and my parents were applying for citizenship. Compared to Sri Lanka, everything here felt so… miserable. Oppressive,” Glancing out of the windows, I saw that the Magical Maintenance Department had chosen grey clouds and rain for today. How apt. 

As the lift zoomed upwards, I zoned out, people coming and going as the floors changed, a blur of names and faces I didn’t recognise. With the hood of my robes staunchly up, I blended in, just another body in a crowd of people. We finally reached level 2, and the lift was empty at this point. Leaving my robe with a wizard on the door like always, Marigold and I wandered down the corridors in our muggle pantsuits until we located the corridor of the MLEP, the wizarding equivalent of muggle police departments. 

We knew everyone in the department of fifteen or so for they were our sole contacts with the Ministry. Our job was to create a bridge between the muggle police force and the DMLE; based in Edinburgh, our department of three covered the whole of Scotland, and the MLEP worked with similar teams in London, Northern Ireland and Cardiff. During Voldemort’s reign of terror, the department must have consisted of over twenty people trying to solve cases involving Wizard attacks on muggles, to both find the truth and satisfy the needs of the muggle police. Now, however, there were only three of us.

“Morning, Smallwood.” I nodded curtly at the muggleborn as he gestured for us to enter his office. The Ministry worker was tall, incredibly thin and could perhaps be considered a little dishevelled. Everything about the man was odd in the most specific way; his robes were just that little bit too big, his spectacles just a little too wonky, his eyes a little too dull and his nose a little too stubby. 

“Detectives,” He smiled pleasantly enough, but I could see that he was not enamoured by our presence, “What can I help you with?”

“I’ve been given the Draco Malfoy case,” I began, and immediately his smile dropped; it was a nice change from the subtle mannerisms of Narcissa Malfoy. Artemis Smallwood wore his thoughts on his face like a projector, “And I need to know everything - every single detail,” Bringing out a notepad and pen, Marigold looked up expectantly as Smallwood began to sweat.

“I-I-”

“Authorised by the Ministry, of course,” I added, slapping my parchment down on the paper, where a [Clearance Level - Three] appeared on top, “Level Three - you’re Level Two, aren’t you, Smallwood?”

“Level Three, right, yes,” He stuttered, his circular glasses steaming up as he fumbled about. With a wave of his wand, a file swept over from a box in the cluttered, dark office. The magical window behind him showed lightning now, and I watched with feigned disinterest as he produced an exceedingly slim file, “Ahem,” He cleared his throat nervously and began to scan through, “I received word from a house elf by the name of Creaker that it had been twenty four hours since Malfoy - Excuse me, Mr Malfoy, - was due to return home from work.”

“Where does he work?”

“I’m unsure,” Smallwood wrinkled his nose in disgust, “Some sort of office where he schemes fraudulent things with his father, no doubt.”

“He’s been convicted of fraud?” I exclaimed with interest, glancing at Marigold to write it down.

“No, no!” Smallwood exclaimed feebly, “I- It was just a… just a joke.”

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I grimaced. Marigold scribbled out a line of writing, “I’m afraid I am not in the mood for jokes, Mr Smallwood. Please continue.”

“Yes, of course,” He swallowed, “Due to the nature of… well, the Malfoys, I immediately sent word to the Aurors and they took it from there. That’s all I can tell you, I’m afraid.”

“Is that it?” Marigold wrinkled her nose in disappointment.

“Marigold,” I raised an eyebrow in warning as she huffed before turning to Smallwood, “Thank you for your time. May I?”

“Of course,” Smallwood gave a sweaty nod and I tapped my wand on his file to create a duplicate, tucking it into my briefcase.

“We’ll be in touch,” Striding out of the room, I took the time to close his door before letting out a suppressed groan, “This is going to be really difficult, isn’t it?”

“Yup,” Marigold laughed, “I reckon we’re going to be treading on a lot of toes, and prying a lot of information people don’t really want to share.”

We began to walk down the corridor, “I don’t even want to do this,” I sighed, “I have better things to occupy my time. Cases I care about.”

“That’s the Malfoys for you,” Marigold pushed open the door, “Still pulling the strings even after all this time.”

“You’re not wrong,” I sighed, thinking back to this morning when I discovered Narcissa Black had donated an exceedingly large sum of money to our department, knowing how desperate Bellchant was for the funding. The DSI would much rather lose me than lose the funding, “Money makes the world go ‘round.”

“That it does,” Marigold gave a sympathetic smile and held the door open for me as we entered the Auror Headquarters. A large, clean office presented itself in soft white light, rows and rows of cubicles stretching out before us. The dark storm clouds outside the magical windows sucked in all the natural light, making it feel as if we were here late at night. The scratching of quills against parchment filled the air as we made our way through the office, nodding at a few familiar faces until we reached the desk of Auror Cassiopia Williamson. 

A woman of impressive stature, with broad shoulders, gapped teeth and a mess of brown curls, Williamson was not someone to be messed around. Muscles rippled under her white blouse and her eyes were dark and distrustful as we arrived at the entrance to her cubicle.

Despite this, she greeted us with an easy, professional smile and invited us to sit. Her cubicle was shared with someone else, evidently a Chudley Cannons fan, but they were absent so I took their chair whilst Marigold summoned herself her own.

“Williamson,” I nodded at her.

“DS Granger, DC Marigold,” Williamson addressed us with our muggle titles, one of the few witches able to grasp what they meant, “I understand you’re here about the Malfoy case.”

“Yes,” I sighed, “I wish I wasn’t, but I’ve got the Superintendent breathing down my neck about it and I don’t have much choice.”

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t have much to give you,” With a wave of her wand, she produced yet another file.

“Could you just give us a run down of what happened after Smallwood informed you about his missing status?” Marigold spoke up, producing her notebook.

“Well, as soon as I received the memo I went to Malfoy Manor immediately.”

“Alone or with a team?” I enquired.

“Alone.”

“You went alone? To the home of a death eater?” Marigold frowned.

Williamson looked irked, “Yes, I did. With Lucius Malfoy already transferred to the new prison and Draco Malfoy missing I didn’t believe I was in any danger.

“What!?” I exclaimed in shock, “What if it was a trap? You could have been killed! Surely that’s against protocol?”

“I didn’t realise I was on trial, Detective,” Williamson growled. I swallowed, feeling uncomfortable.

“I apologise. What happened when you arrived?”

“Well, the gates let me in with the new wards, and -”

“Sorry to interrupt - the new wards?” Marigold questioned.

“Despite Draco and Narcissa getting away scott-free,” Williamson clenched her fists, leaning back, “Adjustments were still made. The wards were changed so that Aurors arriving on official Ministry business should always have access.”

“I see,” I nodded, jotting that down in my own notebook.

“I was greeted by Narcissa Malfoy at the front door, and -”

“Black.”

“Pardon?” Williamson blinked.

“Oh, um,” I swallowed, unsure of why I bothered correcting her, “Never mind. What time was this?”

“I’m unsure, it was the early hours of the morning. Perhaps two or three AM.”

“Who would I be able to speak to about checking the time you left the Ministry? That could give us a rough timeline,” I asked.

“I’d ask Potter,” She suggested with a shrug.

“Great, thanks. Could you tell me what Narcissa looked like when you arrived? How would you describe her body language?”

“What do you think?” The brutish woman snorted, “Closed off. Snooty. Disdainful. Didn’t so much as shed a tear. Of course, we all know what really happened.”

“Oh?” I looked up in surprise. If she knew what happened, I didn’t understand why I had been sent here in the first place.

“Yup,” Williamson nodded, “He ran off. Did something illegal and ran away to let everyone else take the blame. Just like those purebloods always do.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I suppressed a groan, “Is this factual, or speculation?”

“Well,” She frowned, “Speculation, but that’s as good as facts at the end of the day, isn’t it?”

“Oh my god,” I muttered under my breath as Marigold sucked in the air between her teeth, “Let’s just move on from that. How much of the house did you secure off as the crime scene?”

“What?” She blinked.

“A wing, perhaps? Or just one room?” I continued.

“Er, I didn’t secure anything,” She scoffed, “He’s a slimy git, he sure isn’t in trouble. I had a brief look around, told Malfoy I would look into it and returned home,” Letting out a snort, she ran her hands through her thin, greasy hair.

“So you’re telling me,” I began, my voice dangerously quivering, “You didn’t take any evidence, secure any rooms, do any sweeps to detect magical activity and didn’t take in anyone for questioning?”

“No, I didn’t!” She huffed petulantly, “Don’t get your wand in a knot, Granger. He’s a Malfoy!”

“Merlin’s beard,” I seethed, “So has Narcissa just continued living in the house? The elves continued tidying?”

“Presumably.”

“So the crime scene is completely contaminated?” Marigold blinked in confusion.

“And all the evidence is now utterly worthless?” I continued.

“Well -” Williamson opened her mouth to defend herself, but I cut her off, taking a copy of the file that she had procured for me.

“We’re done here,” I grimaced, standing up angrily, “Thank you for your time, Auror.”

“Er, yeah,” Marigold nodded awkwardly, her dark demeanour replaced by embarrassment tinged with a hint of fear, “Thanks.” 

Then, we were striding down the stretch of the office. Or, at least, I was striding. DC Marigold was scampering to keep up.

“Fucking useless,” I muttered, cursing under my breath as I strode past Harry’s assistant and rapped on the door fiercely.

“You can’t go in there!” Called out the woman, but I ignored her, slamming the door open to reveal a shocked Harry.

“What the hell - Oh, Hermione! Come in!” His tone changed from annoyance to jubilation as I stormed up to his desk, his face finally settling on surprise as he took in my furious expression. I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts, I didn’t even notice the guest in his office.

“... Utter incompetence-” I seethed, charging towards his desk, slamming my palms down on the mahogany surface.

“Hermione -” Marigold tried to interrupt meekly.

My breathing was heavy and ragged, my arms flailing wildly as I continued to exclaim in a torrent of words, “Completely inappropriate-”

“Um, Hermione -” Harry tried this time, to no avail.

“Gross misconduct, lack of respect for scene examination and preservation -”

“Herm-” Marigold pleaded desperately, 

“Complete and utter disregard of the laws that govern th-”

“Good day, Miss Granger,” A cold voice interrupted my train of frustration as my head snapped viciously sideways in surprise. Pausing, I took a breath. I swallowed a large gulp of air and my eyes widened so impossibly big I thought they might burst out of my skull. 

“Malf- Black!” I exclaimed, slapping my mouth with my hands as I cursed my tunnel vision.

“Madam Black,” She corrected, giving my skinny jeans, tweed blazer and wild, bouncy curls a disdainful look.

“Yeah, sure,” I sniffed, having more or less regained control of my breathing.

“Anything else you would like to say about me now I am present, Ms Granger?” The blonde asked cooly, her voice like daggers.

“Er, what?” I blinked. In that moment, as her gaze held mine with intense ferocity, it felt like we were the only ones in the room, Harry and Marigold fading into the background like they had never been there.

“What was it you were saying about me just now? ‘Incompetence’, was it, Ms Granger?” She curled her lip in a contemptuous manner, “Lack of respect? Gross misconduct?”

“Oh!” I stifled a laugh as it finally dawned on me what she thought had just happened.

“Please do continue your tirade, I would love to hear what other sagacious adjectives you would like to bestow upon me.”

“Madam Black,” I rolled my eyes, the corners of my mouth twitching up despite myself, “I do apologise for breaking your self-pitiful bubble but I’m afraid you’ve got it all wrong.”

“I presume you’ve had your meeting with Auror Williamson?” Harry suddenly piped up and it was then that I remembered Narcissa and I were not alone.

“You presume correctly,” I scoffed, flopping down unceremoniously into the chair beside Narcissa. The chairs were so close together my hand brushed hers as I sat, but if she felt it, she gave no indication. I was almost surprised her skin didn’t break out in boils at being sat so close to a muggleborn.

“Will someone please enlighten me as to what is going on?” Narcissa hissed.

Harry glanced at me and I bristled, “I could ask the same question,” I began, glaring at the Head Auror, “Care to explain yourself?”

Narcissa was frowning now, glancing between Harry and I in barely-disguised confusion as he rubbed his forehead anxiously and grimaced, “I understand your frustration, Hermione -”

“Harry, what the hell kind of department are you running here!?” I interjected, seething, “One Auror at the crime scene? No witness statements taken? No evidence gathered, no further investigation taken? No scene examination strategy? I understand our past with the Malfoys, but there’s no excuse! Besides that, it could have been a trap! Williamson could have been killed, and hardly anyone even knew she was there!” 

“Williamson?” Narcissa muttered, the cogs spinning in her head.

“Right!” Harry slammed his glasses down on the table, and the lens cracked. My wand twitched with the temptation to fix it, but I didn’t move a muscle; my hands were shaking with rage to the point I may have damaged the spectacles further anyway, “It’s a massive cock-up, I get it!” 

“And you’re going to help me fix it,” I said, slapping the files on the table as Marigold hovered nervously behind me, “I want my clearance level raised, and I want this case to be kept air-tight. Anyone that doesn’t know about it already, won’t know. Understood?”

“If you were anyone else…” Harry warned, cheeks flushed red with a mixture of guilt and reluctance. Opening my mouth to respond, I paused as a memo fluttered in through a small hole in the door, landing on Harry’s desk with a soft thump. He opened it and frowned, “The Minister wants to see you. He said to drop by and make an appointment with his secretary.”

“Great,” I sighed, blowing a curl out of my face. The Ministry felt like a maze sometimes; I wondered if I would ever get out.

“I’ll see you soon, ‘Mione,” Harry smiled softly, and I couldn’t help but smile back. It was his duty to make sure the Aurors were in check, but as hard as he worked, some things still got swept under the rug and I couldn’t blame him no matter how hard I tried.

“I’ll owl you,” I said with a curt nod, hyper aware of Narcissa’s presence.

“If you could show Madam Black out,” Harry gave me a sly grin, exacting his revenge, “It was good to see you, DC Marigold.”

“Sir,” Marigold murmured weakly. I turned to look at the woman for the first time since I burst into the room and saw that she looked rather shocked, like she still hadn’t quite processed what was going on. 

DC Marigold and I followed Narcissa out of the office and headed towards the lift. The silence was exceedingly uncomfortable, but I hardly noticed; I was far too wrapped up in my own thoughts. When we reached the atrium and exited the lift, Narcissa turned towards me. It was then that Marigold took her opportunity, looking incredibly drained, “I think I’ll meet you back at the office, DI Granger,” She swallowed and whipped away towards the fireplaces, being swallowed into the crowds in a matter of seconds. 

“DI?” questioned Narcissa, her chin jutted upwards in an arrogant manner as if the idea that I knew something she didn’t was preposterous.

“Detective Inspector,” I explained, unsure why I was even entertaining the woman, “One rank above Detective Constable, which is Marigold’s position.”

“You’re her superior?”

“Um,” my heart was thudding, my brain incapable of comprehending a conversation with the woman that didn’t involve snide comments, “Technically, yes, but she doesn’t answer to me, we both answer to my department head, Detective Chief Inspector Wilson, who in turn answers to the head of the Division, Detective Superintendent Bellchant, whom we met with.”

“I see,” Narcissa stared for a few seconds, and I let her, for I was so paralysed I couldn’t think straight. She was vain, snotty, contumelious and arrogant, but she also held a dazzling Patrician beauty you only really experienced once or twice in your life and oftentimes I found myself struck by it. In her heels, Narcissa stretched past six feet tall, and I looked up into her eyes like a beggar as her features tightened, “You are a fascinating woman, Ms Granger.”

“Pardon?” I blinked and for a second, a flash of regret registered on her face as if she hadn’t really meant to say that. But Narcissa Black was a woman of purpose; her words plucked carefully from the hat; her movements premeditated - even her blinks were deliberate and calculated. 

So she turned on her heels and walked away, ignoring me, leaving me feeling like I had just been doused with a cold bucket of water. 

Time was warped in the Ministry of Magic; I could have been here for hours, days, months or even seconds and it all would have felt the same. It was maddening, but I missed it terribly. Perhaps the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures wasn’t the most intellectually stimulating job I had ever had, but it was by far the most enjoyable because I truly felt like I was making a difference. 

Being a Detective often just filled me with an intense dissatisfaction for the human race. With every murderer I locked up, three more heads sprouted in its place, a never ending cycle of blood and torture. Truthfully, wizards were no better than muggles. Deep down, humans were selfish, destructive and savage. Anyone in the right situation would do things they never dared dream about; the only barrier stopping us was the rules of the society that governs us and it was a very thin line to cross. After the Battle of Hogwarts, I knew exactly how thin that line was.

After booking an appointment with Kingsley Shacklebolt, I headed to Diagon alley; it was my lunch break so I wandered down the cobbled streets for a while. It was bustling, as always, people wandering aimlessly up and down, no real direction. The sun was dazzling, but a soft wind whistled along, tousling robes of all colours and patterns as young children not yet old enough for Hogwarts ran about the ankles of window shoppers.

A new cafe had opened up, and the glinting of the brand new sign above it caught my eye; Cromwell’s Tearoom. Taking a seat outside, I leant back and closed my eyes, tilting my head towards the sun. For a moment, I allowed myself to breathe. I felt safe here, for a second at least, wrapped in my own cocoon of warmth as the sun stretched through my body like tendrils of happiness and my scarf cuddled my neck snugly. Everything was still in that moment, and the soft flutter of the tablecloth against my leg was the only real grounding I had. I could have been anywhere; France, Greece or perhaps even Spain.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” came the softest, most angelic voice. Warm, gentle, the vocal equivalent of a log fire on a cold day.

Opening one eye, I squinted, and in seeing Andromeda Tonks, I bolted upright, wide awake, “Madam Tonks!” I exclaimed enthusiastically, grinning as she let out a delectable laugh, “Oh it really is terribly wonderful to see you!”

“Hello, Hermione,” She stressed my name, smiling endearingly, “How many times have I told you, you must call me Andy!”

“Hullo, Andy,” I said sheepishly, “Care to join me for some lunch?”

“I would love to,” She smiled, taking a seat. Dressed in a pale brown sheath dress, a beige cardigan adorning her shoulders, Andromeda Tonks was the epitome of elegance; slender, tanned legs; small, white heels; a slanted boater hat decorated with a green ribbon atop her head - there was no mistaking that she was an affluent and opulent member of wizarding society.

“Gosh, it’s been such a long time,” I began, only pausing to order some food.

“Two, three years?” Andy’s eyes twinkled in the sunlight and it struck me that I had never realised how much she looked like Narcissa. With Andy, I always saw the strong, jutting chin, the knife-like cheekbones, the wild curls and the dark, hooded eyes as being a paragon of Bellatrix Lestrange; but now, with mirth dancing in the brunette’s eyes, I thought back to that moment in the ministry when Narcissa let her guard slip and told me that I was a fascinating. Her eyes had shone with keen, unguarded interest. It was in that moment that she most resembled Andromeda, the softness around her eyes instantly recognisable. My brain momentarily drifted away as I thought back to that moment. Narcissa Black had almost seemed pleasured by my company. It was an unsettling realisation, and gave me no great conclusion. It only left me with more answers. Someone like Narcissa was only capable of hatred, particularly towards someone like me. A Mudblood. So why did she tell me what she did? And why did I care?

“Perhaps it was two? Last year I spent Christmas with my parents, and before that, the Weasleys. I think we spent Christmas of 2006 at Grimmauld Place with you, Harry and Teddy.”

“Gosh, two years,” She smiled softly, and it was a glowing smile filled with sunbeams that stretched across her face, wrinkling the corners of her eyes, “And I hardly saw you then. You were far too preoccupied with keeping Ronald away from George’s fruit punch!”

“There was hardly any fruit in that,” I giggled, reminiscing happily, “It was ninety percent firewhisky!”

“I’m glad I stuck to my wine, then,” Andromeda gracefully accepted a cup of tea from the waiter, “How are things going with Mr Weasley?”

“They’re going really well, thank you,” I smiled softly, thinking of the man I loved. My smile faded ever so slightly when images of this morning clouded my vision. The constant drone of football commentary reached me, even here, sitting in the midst of Diagon Alley.

“I sense some hesitancy,” she noted, raising a dark eyebrow.

“I -” sighing, I took a bite of my lunch, “I love him more than anyone, and of course I want to spend the rest of my life with him, but…”

“Don’t feel as if you have to share anything you don’t want to, Hermione,” Andy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear gently, “It’s rather a heavy topic for a surprise catch up.”

“You’re not wrong,” I laughed, “I suppose I haven’t really told anyone about this so perhaps it would be good to air it all out; I just don’t know if I can marry him, Andy. I’ve never really wanted children, and central to Ron’s core values and ambitions is coming home to a housewife after a long day at work with a cooked dinner on the table and kids running around his feet. That’s just not me, and I don’t know if it ever will be.”

Sighing, Andy’s eyes tinged with sadness as she


End file.
